


Freefall

by Milu_i



Series: Pieces of a Broken Heart [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter is their adoptive son, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milu_i/pseuds/Milu_i
Summary: ► ENDGAME SPOILER BELOW ◄It's been 72 hours since they said their goodbyes.It's been about a week or two since his world broke down into a pile of shards.It's been... forever, since he saw Pops smile.It's been exactly 64 hours and 13 minutes since he made up his mind.Because if they have jumped through time itself, if they have managed the impossible and compromised the memories of their past selves already, a little bit more won’t hurt. Not more than it already does with Dad gone.





	Freefall

**Author's Note:**

> **Music Tip:**   
>  **KALEO - Vor í Vaglaskógi**   
>  [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00YtyerZ6HA)   
>  [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2OdpZeTpnbqPqBrclk2pib?si=4cilR9FtSy2F1c9k_DeWmA)

„Peter?“

Disdain slowly crawls across his face, half of it hidden behind his arms crossed on top of his knees, as his eyes fall on the rays of sunshine brightening the warm summer day outside the window. Inside –  
The darkness feels calming, cradles his solitude and pulls him further into the semi-awake state he is caught in. Not that he wants to escape it. A slight scratching noise fills the silence in the room for a moment, when he pushes himself further into the corner. Not much space, a secluded tiny room, dark, empty, just like himself. It’s ~~goo~~ alright here. It feels familiar in an estranged kind of way. Not the way he is used to, but befitting the situation at hand. It fits and stops the screaming, so he welcomes it with open arms.

“Peter, honey?”

The shivering starts again.  
At first in his hands, barely visible tremors that refuse to keep his hands still. He takes a deep breath, tries to and fails half way, before he pulls his hands down to shove them in between his legs pressed to his upper body. It’ll ~~be oka~~ go away. Like it did last time. Without Pops’ help. Without ~~dad~~ -  
He chokes on a breath, but the sob threatening his half-aware existence never makes it out. It’ll go away, just keep breathing, in and out, in and out, in-

“Peter, buddy, are you in here?”  
The creaking of a door, hard footsteps on the floor and then the bubble threatens to bust as Sam comes to a stop in front of him. Peter freezes completely, not looking up, not daring to blink. “Go away,” he mutters into his kneecaps, so, _so_ quiet but void of emotion. Even with his eyes solely focused on his uncle’s shoes he can see him tense up. A few seconds filled with tense silence, then he kneels down in front of him. Before he can make out Sam’s eyes, before Peter is forced to see the ugly acceptance that has settled over everyone, he buries his face in his knees. The trembling takes over his arms and he presses them closer.

“Peter? Can you look at me?”  
There is that tone he absolutely resents. The one he only ever used at the VA, counseling and connecting and _handling_ people. It unravels something tight in his chest, something he tries to pull back but doesn’t have the strength for anymore. “No,” he replies with resent that isn’t aimed at his uncle. He knows – of course he does, of all the people still here he has to know best, but it doesn’t make it any better, quite the contrary. His calm “I understand.” makes it all worse and for a moment Peter wants to yell at him how he doesn’t understand _shit_.  
He doesn’t understand how the look in his dad’s eyes, already lost and so far away, rips him apart, not really there anymore, not even really listening to their heart-felt goodbyes.  
He doesn’t understand how that last hug haunts him, how he wakes up crying and screaming because he can’t remember the position of their arms, how close his father pulled him, how shaky his voice sounded, how there might have been a subdued _something_ in there, warning him, rattling his senses about the unfolding tragedy.  
He doesn’t understand how he smashes all the mirrors in disgust at his own sight – if only he’d been faster, quicker, more able to get the fucking stones to Scott and his partner in time, then –  
It is his fault. Not solely, of course he knows that, of course he is aware. But –

It is there. All of the time.  
And he can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t take a single step.

It is over. Done. How are they all _moving on_? How is Pops? Why?!

“Your da- Steve is about to go.”  
Peter physically flinches at the near slip up. His following rushed words, so unprofessional from what Peter expects, not make it any better. “He’ll be back literally five seconds later, but he really wants to see you first. He waits out-“  
The fear is solely mobilizing him. Pushing himself up he has to lean against the wall in his back for a moment to let the blood rush into his head. Sam hovers beside him, worried and with a hand outstretched in case he crumbles again like he did during the funeral. He doesn’t and instead pushes past his uncle, eyes still on the ground and hood pulled deep over his face to hide from the world. At least a little bit, if he is being forced to face it.

But having Pops go now already, just mere hours –  
Even five seconds can stretch infinitely long; his father might get injured, get sick and they wouldn’t even know, no help from outside, he would literally be all alone and if something worse would occur, if he would follow dad’s lead –

The trembling intensifies. His knees feel weak.  
Outside the door greets him another familiar face, one that doesn’t take his bullshit and touches him with gloves like Sam does. If there is one person he is more comfortable around than Pops at the moment (one person alive at least), it’s Bucky. He doesn’t say a word, simply puts a steadying arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, before they wander down the path together with Sam in tow.

It’s not good (never again), but it takes the edge off of the too bright sun scorching them. It makes the wind a little harsher, rougher, not this soft breeze nipping at the strands of hair hanging into his eyes and comforting his face the way _he_ always did.  
His eyes glance at the sky, searching for a single cloud to bring the desired rain, but not a single one heeds his call. Rain. Heavy drops pelting against the windows and shattering the silence, the cracks of thunder meeting the cracks of his heart and making it bleed, as the world drowns in his sorrow befitting the melancholy taking ahold of him.

Instead.  
“Peter, baby-“  
He melts into his father’s embrace and closes his eyes.

A kiss onto his scalp. His father tightens his embrace, when Peter stays silent and motionless. No tears escape his eyes. Maybe he is still in a state of shock? How long has it been anyway, since-  
Irrelevant. Just keep breathing. In and out. And another. In and out. In and out.

“I’ll be back in just a moment,” Pops promises with that steady voice of his. Peter has no clue how he does it. But instead of just taking it for what it is, a quiet reassurance for his grieving son, Peter acts up. Because it couldn’t be further from the truth. “No, you won’t.”  
He can hear Sam moving somewhere to his left, building himself up the way he always does when he wants to intervene but doesn’t know how to. Steve takes none of it. His son (only his now, no one else’s), his child to take care of.

“It’ll only be a blink of an eye for you, I promise.”

“Not for you, though,” he clarifies quietly and presses his face into the crook of his father’s neck. Ever since the battle he has started to grow his beard out again. It’s a comforting sight, somehow. Reminds him of before everything went to shit, when everything had seemingly been more complicated between them, when fights were everything but a rare occurrence. When they were at least alive to do so.  
“I don’t mind,” Pops continues, not really understanding. Of course he doesn’t, Peter muses, since it has to be a subconscious thing. Getting as far away from the situation at hand to deal with it any other way than what awaits him. Under the pretence of bringing the stones back he flees as far as he possibly can, back in time, to maybe throw a glance or two at his late husband and grieve quietly for himself. It is not the first time for him to do so – after Bucky’s death, after everything was over, there just was a more morbid way out, a plane and a reason to escape the pain gnawing away at his heart.

“But I do,” he whispers and presses himself as close as he can.  
He wants to mourn with him together. Shed tears, sob and scream until his throat is bleeding raw emotions onto the wooden floor of the little hut dad built for them. He wants to hold Pops close when he breaks down, be the strong one for once and feel better for being what Pops was for Dad every once in a while, when bitterness threatened to consume him.  
Instead he will be the only one having to be comforted by a father already over it. It sounds alien in his head, and makes him want to curl away from him. His father notices the rising tension in his son’s body and places a hand onto the nape of his neck.  
The familiarity of that simple gesture pushes the fear in his heart away for a moment (it’s okay, it’s not gonna come that far) so he can take a deep breath. It eases the tension in his shoulders and forces his clenched muscles to relax. His right hand remains balled into a fist, safely tucked in between their chests. It’s not gonna end like that.

He can feel Pops being caught unaware for a moment, unsure of what to say. Maybe he even contemplates to stay for the fraction of a second. Then he catches himself, heaves a deep breath. His subconsciousness pushes him on, it’s alright, it’s the right decision, he _has to do it_ _~~to not loose his mind~~_.  
“I love you,” Peter mumbles and pulls back before Steve can think up encouraging words. With crossed arms he takes a few steps back, nods decidedly and for the first time since the funeral returns the look in his father’s eyes. With the fake security his son gifts him with, Steve heaves another breath, nods to himself and then his companions, before he steps onto the platform. Peter tenses up. Sam takes a step forward to place a hand onto his shoulder, interpreting the signs the wrong way like Peter anticipated him to.

It will be better.  
He’ll make sure of it.

Because if they have jumped through time itself, if they have managed the impossible and compromised the memories of their past selves already, a little bit more won’t hurt. Not more than it already does.

“Ready?” Bruce’s voice chimes in from Peter’s left and for the first time since arriving at the site, he notices his presence amongst them. Really it is the first time since the funeral that he sees his father’s partner in crime, Peter’s honorary uncle. It stings, but in between the pain and ache already settling in his chest, it doesn’t make that much of a difference. Another disappointment, another irrelevant detail he might solve with some participation of his own part, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Not anymore in a few seconds.

His father nods positively in Bruce’s direction, before his eyes roam back to his son. Internally he curses. If he sees it coming from a mile away, he will stop him before Peter takes so much as a step onto the platform. Look away, come on, just one glance…

“3…”

His heartbeat jumps and in a bout of panic he breaks eye contact with his dad. Come on, please, something to divert his attention-

“2…”  
Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Bucky nod. He yanks his head up, Pops shares a last important glance with his best friend, one he can already guess the meaning of but doesn’t waste another second on. The moment Bruce announces the last digit of the countdown, Peter rips himself out of Sam’s grasp and sprints for the platform. It’s an automatic process, no button pushing, so Bruce won’t be able to stop it in time. Now he only has to adjust the time a little bit-  
The web shoots out from the little machine hidden on his wrist and straight for the control panel. He knows he has hit his target, when Bruce’s curse mingles with those of Sam and Bucky. They are close, too damn close when he can feel Bucky grasping for the hood of his sweater and barely missing it, as he takes a jump onto the illuminated platform. The small vial of red sand grows uncomfortably warm in his hand, but it all becomes insignificantly unimportant, when two broad hands clutch his arms and pull him close to Pops’ chest in a protective embrace.

The last thing he sees is the terrified look in his father’s eyes, before they disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha. Hahaha.  
> I think I'm genuinely going through the something-stages of grief or something. Like... genuinely? It's crazy. Denial - been there, done that. Now I torture myself with sad edits on Youtube and suck up any inspiration I get to type it into something useful. Well, maybe less useful, but I managed to work this little one into a not horribly short length and decided to just go with and post it. I have NO clue where exactly I'm gonna go with this. There are two possible ways where he'll end up in my head, so if you have any wish as to what you would love to see, I'm all ears. Go for it, I have made no notes whatsoever for this fic, so everything goes in my book.  
> Maybe it'll only be two chapters long, maybe it'll turn into a monster, dunno. See where it goes.
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Milu


End file.
